


find you and hold you down

by vowelinthug



Category: Black Sails
Genre: Light Bondage, Light breathplay, M/M, and rimming, except feelings, light everything
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-13
Updated: 2016-07-13
Packaged: 2018-07-23 16:53:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7471692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vowelinthug/pseuds/vowelinthug
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sorry, Silver, Flint doesn't have time for any of your bullshit. He's all tied up right now.</p>
            </blockquote>





	find you and hold you down

**Author's Note:**

> title is from "Hold Up" by Beyonce, which has no relevance to this story, except I needed Queen B's guidance to find the strength to write this.
> 
> I was talking to [El](http://jadedbirch.tumblr.com) about the stunning lack of bondage fic in this fandom. This is a pathetic attempt to rectify that.
> 
> Also this takes place in an alternate timeline where Silver didn't lie about the gold in the end of season 2 because I needed them to trust each other completely and I feel like if you can suspend your disbelief that the rest of this is happening y'all will be okay with that too.

* * *

 

If Flint were being honest with himself — and really, there was no better time to be than when one was strung up like a plucked goose in a cell off the Virginian coast awaiting execution — he hadn’t really wanted to die this way.

The last time he’d been in a similar situation, he hadn’t even let himself think let alone wish for a swift, sudden death — not with Miranda’s eyes still open and wet on Ashe’s unswept floor. At the time, he’d just wished to be gone, didn’t care how, and only hoped he could find some measure of revenge before he went.

His captors had originally thrown him in a cell and left him there for most of the day. When they came in at sunset, it had taken four men to subdue him while three more stood by the door armed with muskets. They’d chained him by his wrists only, strung to a large hook in the center of the room. He figured they meant to humiliate him, maybe torture them if they had the balls to do it, but at least try to interrogate him as to the whereabouts of the rest of the crew, his men still aboard the _Walrus_ while he and a handful of others (whom he can only assume escaped) had left to deal with this bloody place. This town, who’d thrown caution and all sense to the wind and hung two men suspected of having sold pirated goods.

The night before, he’d easily walked into the magistrate’s home, shot him, and his wife. Hadn’t figured on the adult son, home after finishing up military school, walking silently behind him with the leg of a heavy chair.

So they’d hoisted him up by his wrists, and Flint figured the only reason he wasn’t dead yet was because they wanted to make a spectacle of it, get the news out, but also because Flint had shot the town’s leading legal authority and they had no idea what to do next.

They’d been standing around, arguing over killing him now or killing him later, and one guard had been standing too close, and it had been so easy for Flint to leverage himself up, get his thighs around the man’s neck, and twist until it snapped.

He hadn’t actually meant to snap the guy’s neck, but was unbelievably pleased to hear the sound. Let that be his one last act of this Earth - these thighs that Thomas had been particularly fond of, that Miranda had once sat astride all night reading to the two of them lewd poetry from a secret stash of purple books, these thighs served him one other kindness by disposing of at least one of His Majesty’s loyal subjects.

He's a little sad his revolt ended so swiftly. And stupidly. They’d only _just_ started killing pirate killers after racing back to Nassau to sort out the Urca gold fiasco, and he ended up like this. Hopefully he could count on Silver to spin his death a little better than this.

They’d knocked him out after he’d killed that guard, and he’d awoken alone, maybe an hour later, to find himself, well. He guessed he made them feel overly cautious.

He was still standing upright, his wrists attached to the hook in the center of the low ceiling, but whoever’d been responsible for chaining up had just taken the rusted steel chains and wrapped them tightly around his chest, sometimes criss-crossed, before attaching them to the hook above him with his hands. Part of it sat at the base of his throat, not exactly choking him, but along with the rest of the chains pressing down on his ribs, breathing became slightly difficult.

Apparently having discovered the danger Flint presented with his legs, as well, they’d decided they needed to be locked down, too. But Flint could only assume they’d used up their longer chains on his torso, for whatever reason, and only had shorter ones to hold his feet down. Each shackle was attached to the wall on both sides of him, and the chains weren’t long enough for Flint to move his legs at all. In fact, they were so short his legs were slightly spread apart.

It was overkill. It was ridiculous, and degrading, and painful. This was what these so-called civilized men did to a prisoner - tied him down like a wild animal.

After a moment he realized he was slightly hard.

He stared down at his cock, confused, until the act of looking down made breathing especially difficult and spots began to appear in front of his eyes and he lifted his head, panting harshly, his eyes wet.

He didn’t just _get hard_ anymore. Hadn’t for a long time. The few times he’d laid with Miranda over the years had mostly been for her benefit, and he’d used to have to work himself up to it for awhile.

His cock was only half-hard, but there was nothing he could do about it this position, so he just ignored it, and then he sort of. Just. Ignored everything. His mind became a rolling ocean, nothing but spray and foam. He could only feel the weight around his chest, the strain in his legs. He found himself leaning forward into the chain around his neck, letting it choke him slightly before pulling back when he couldn’t breathe at all, and then repeating it. He couldn’t move, and for a moment, he couldn’t think, and it was wonderful.

A crash, a thud, a raised voice from above would suddenly bring him into the present, and he’d thrash against the chains, hating himself for letting _quiet_ enter his existence again. Flint was not allowed for things to be _quiet_ , not when he still had so much to _do_. But the fight against the chains did nothing but pull on his body and his throat, until he was panting heavily, hanging, dazed. And still hard. And then the cycle would repeat.

Distantly, Flint wondered when was the last time he’d ever been held.

\----

It had taken some convincing to get Billy to agree to Silver’s rescue attempt. When the rest of the raiding party had returned without Flint or any knowledge as to where he was, Billy was ready to set sail almost immediately. It had been good while it lasted, he said, being the most fearsome pirates on the high seas, but maybe they could go back to actually stealing things and getting money for it.

“Besides,” Billy said, “this is the second time in as many months he’s had a noose around his neck. Maybe this is inevitable.”

Fuck that. If Silver condemned a man for having the shittiest of luck imaginable, he himself might as well tie his own noose.

“I’ve spent these last months riling those men up,” Silver said quietly in the Captain’s quarters. Outside the crew was mumbling, agitated over their next move. “I have been working endlessly to get them to pick up arms for the sake of this community of thieves and killers, creating a furious and _violent_ sense of brotherhood, all rallying behind Captain Flint, and now you want me to go out there and say ‘ _Nevermind’?_ They’d eat us alive.”

“Be honest,” Billy said when they were getting ready to load the long boats. “Do you really think he’d be coming back for us?”

Silver thought about everything his Captain had lost in recent days. He thought about the pain so blatantly hidden on Flint’s face when he’d returned from a raid, the atrocities committed in the name of his own grief, how he shouldered away from his own crew’s wary gazes. He thought about how some nights Flint let Silver sit in his cabin because he knew Silver wouldn’t ask how he was feeling and he knew Silver needed to rest his leg free of everyone’s helpful gaze and they both knew sometimes when one sits in one’s own personal despair beside someone else also suffering, it didn’t really feel like one was all that alone. He thought about how they were here getting retribution for the sake of two men who probably weren’t even pirates, but were just guilty by association.

“Yes,” said Silver, and he was only surprised by how not surprised he was by own answer. “I really do.”

The plan meant everyone except the barest skeleton crew landing, causing general murder and mayhem, while Silver slipped inside the local jail to fetch Flint. The town wasn’t nearly as fortified as Charlestown -- there wasn’t, in fact, any fort whatsoever -- and by the time they were ready and stocked it was almost nightfall, so it didn’t require an intricately timed plan as Vane’s did.

Billy didn’t get why Silver was coming with them. His was still getting used to his steel peg-leg -- meaning, it still caused him untold agony -- but he wasn’t ready to leave anything to chance, and he’s not sure how much he actually trusted Billy to bring Flint home safe.

He’s pretty sure Billy would bring Flint home safe. Probably. At least not dead.

So Silver was coming along, even though he didn’t do these raids when he had two good legs. The plan involved waiting behind a few minutes while the rest of the crew laid waste to the town, and he’d just stroll right up to the jail.

Which was basically what happened. There were still two men left in the jail, but a knife to the belly for the one closer, and a bullet to the chest of the one running to greet them, and Silver was stomping down to the cellar, a single keyring twirling around his finger.

John Silver was _not_ an invalid.

Silver had wondered what he’d find, walking down the corridor towards the cells. Whether he’d find Captain Flint broken and bleeding. His decapitated corpse already starting to smell.

He’d expected chains, and at least he was right about one thing. The arousal and almost blissful look on his Captain’s face, that was -- unexpected.

Silver knew he was a creature of instinct. Spotting a rolled up a piece of paper in a coward’s hands and fighting him to the death for it? Instinct. Telling an asshole with wide access to terrible weapons “no” while imprisoned and outnumbered to protect others? Instinct.  

But Silver was a smart man who _learned_ , and since those things generally did not work out for too well for him, he was willing to give planning ahead a try.

He stood in the shadows outside the cell, watching Flint slowly, peacefully strangle himself, and thought. He only had so much time, but he’d told Billy to leave only enough survivors to tell what happened if the English messed personally with one of their own. He figured he had about twenty minutes to do….whatever it was he was planning to do.

Because he’d _knew_ what that look on Captain Flint’s face meant. He’d once known a whore who confided in him how hard it was to find a man she could trust enough to tie her down while getting fucked and sorry, that wasn’t him. He’d once lain with a man who begged Silver to choke him while inside him. Silver never considered himself the most worldly of people, but he knew a thing or two.

He knew what that look on Captain Flint’s face meant, and it meant something Silver was willing to give him. More than willing. Eager, in fact, to volunteer. Had been searching for an opening since the night after they’d captured the Spanish warship.

What he’s saying was, it wouldn’t actually be a hardship.

But because Silver spent all his time watching Flint, he knew that Flint only spent some of his time watching Silver, and the rest of the time watching everyone else. That dangerous, paranoid attitude, while one of Flint’s many attractive qualities, gave Silver absolutely no indication as to whether he’d be receptive to any kind of advance.

The only benefit Silver saw now if he offered Flint something and was denied: Flint couldn’t immediately kill him. Silver could say, hey, no hard feelings, leave him strung up to the ceiling, inform another crew member where they could find Flint, and vanish off into the Americas, never to be seen or heard from by Captain Flint or any _Walrus_ man again.

There. He’d thought it over for at least thirty seconds. That meant he wasn’t acting on pure instinct, right?

He took a step forward and Flint immediately turned to look at him. The bliss on his face disappeared and Silver watched, fascinated, as went through a rainbow of emotions: embarrassment, anger, relief, before finally settling on disbelief.

“The fuck are you doing here?” Flint said. His voice sounded -- off. Silver attributed to the steel he’d been pressing against his throat for who knows how long.

“I would have thought that was fairly obvious,” said Silver, approaching to cell door. The light from the torches gleamed dully over the chains. Flint, he could see, was still hard. “Disappointed I’m not Captain Vane?”

“You were the only one who’d come, then?” Flint shifted awkwardly in his chains, clearly trying to avoid Silver’s gaze. He was clearly thinking about the last escape he made. Silver had heard all about the running and jumping and fighting and other sorts of athleticism that had gone on while he was losing his leg.

“Rest assured, we won’t have to try and make a quick getaway,” said Silver. He tried the only key on the ring and managed not to audibly sigh when it worked. “We can make a slow, easy escape, minding not to slip on the trail of blood left behind by the good townsfolk of Wherever-the-Fuck-We-Are, kindly provided for us by your brave and faithful crew.

“What?” said Flint. His surprise actually hurt Silver’s heart. “All of them?”

They both looked up at the ceiling. The walls were thick, but there, after a moment of silence - the faint sound of screaming.

“This might have started as your crusade, Captain,” said Silver, approaching, “but it hasn’t remained that way.”

He stopped, and stared at his Captain. He pointedly started from the top where his wrists were being held, all the way down his body to where his feet were chained apart.

“Well,” said Silver, “this is quite a position you’ve gotten yourself into.”

“It’s not my fault,” Flint said through gritted teeth. His poor complexion couldn’t hide his blush even in this low lighting.

“Is that so?”

“I was provoked.”

“I hope you don’t mind,” said Silver, circling so he stood behind Flint, “if I use that on your tombstone. Here Lies Captain James Flint: He Was Provoked.”

“You’ll be lying right beside me,” growled Flint. “Here Lies John Silver: I Provoked Him.”

“You’ve put me in a very interesting position,” said Silver. There was no way Flint could catch him staring so Silver took advantage.

But Flint could, apparently, feel Silver’s eyes on his ass, because he sounded pretty pissed when he said, “Oh? Really? _You’re_ in an interesting position?”

“I came here all set to rescue you from unspeakable torment, and this whole time you’ve been hanging here, enjoying yourself.”

Flint’s face looked redder and angrier than Silver had ever seen it. It was beautiful. “You fucking little shit, I’m going to fuckin ki--”

Silver placed one hand heavily on Flint’s lower back. He could hear Flint’s teeth clack as his mouth snapped shut.

"You know how I watch you, Captain," Silver continued. Then, quietly, he allowed himself to be honest, "I like watching you."

Flint trembled, very slightly. Silver would have missed it if his hand wasn't pressed against his back, if the chains hadn't rattled faintly. Flint said nothing.

"I watch how you put yourself under unspeakable strain, these last few months. I understand your reasonings, and in truth I share them - intense loss such as the two of us have known can be a power motivator. But when I came in just now, when you thought you were alone, was truly the most relaxed I'd ever seen you. The most clear. Getting captured like this was a novice mistake, Captain. Most unlike you. I think you are becoming overwhelmed with your mission here, and are being blown in a hundred different directions. I would like to help you remain focused." Silver ran his hand up Flint's spine pointedly, until he reached the chains. "If, of course, you'll let me."

This was the moment. If Flint said no, Silver was about to begin a new life as a hopefully prosperous Virginian farmer.

Flint kept staring straight ahead, motionless. Then, with a shuddery breath, he nodded. Kind of.

"I'm afraid," said Silver, running his hand back down his spine, stopping where it began to curve, "I'm going to need a vocal confirmation."

A beat, then two, during which time Silver wondered how well tobacco grew this time of year, and then Flint said, “Yes, damn it. What you’re offering - yes. Okay?” And then quickly added, “But only if you admit you need it, too.”

“Well, I should think that’s very obvious I want this, I--”

“No.” Flint looked at him over his shoulder, one green eye piercing into the very center of his soul. “Not want.  _Need_.”

Christ. Normally, Silver spent at least two-thirds of his waking hours watching Captain Flint (the other third was reserved for watching the entirety of the _Walrus_ crew, and to be honest most of the time that included more of watching Flint), so he really got to _look_ at his Captain. He _knew_ his Captain, and because he was always looking he knew that Flint only looked at Silver….sometimes. He really was being pulled in every direction. Silver was okay with this. He liked being noticed, of course, but he’d rather be seen only some of the time than have another person _know_ him completely like that.

Even though Flint was the one tied up to all hell, Silver had never felt more vulnerable to this man before him. But he supposed if he got the most stubborn man he knew to admit how much he needed to be controlled, Silver, the second most stubborn man he knew, could admit how desperately he needed to feel in control, especially after recent events.

So, forgetting for a moment that he wasn’t acting on instinct anymore, Silver pressed his own erection against the side of Flint’s ass and said, “Need.”

That piercing green eye fluttered, Flint rocking back into him only slightly before nodding again. “Okay.”

“Wonderful!” Silver said, reaching forward to undo Flint’s button.

Flint jerked forward under his hands, trying to get away. “What? Not now!”

“Am I expected to let such a perfect opportunity as this go to waste?”

“Yes!”

“We have, by my estimate, about seventeen minutes before the crew will be wondering where we are. I promise you we will only have to stroll out of here.” He ran his hand up Flint’s clothed erection, and then unceremoniously reached inside to touch it. Flint -- there’s really no other word for it -- _whined_ , his cock rock hard and so very hot in Silver’s hand.  “And I imagine you’ve been in this state for a few hours now, so I can’t think this will take long.”

“What…” Flint was breathing so hard Silver thought he might actually choke himself out. “...about… you?”

With his free hand, Silver grazed the chains close to his throat, gently pressed down on the bruises already forming. “We can worry about me later. Let me take care of you now.”

Flint moaned and it echoed beautifully off the stone walls. His eyes were closed, and he leaned further into the chains, into Silver’s hands.

Silver took this moment of distraction to push his pants all the way down. Flint choked off a groan, his eyes flying open wide as cool night air hit him. Silver didn’t want to stop touching him, even for a second, but God help him, he needed to _see_.

So he stepped back. Flint’s shirt was long enough that it covered his cock, only the leaking tip just barely visible, but his position tilted forward meant it fell just above the dip in the lower back, leaving his whole ass exposed. Silver wondered if it would be too inconvenient to grab a torch off the wall to give him a better look.

“Oh, _Captain,_ ” Silver said, letting his hands roam all over his pert ass and muscular thighs. “Someday, someday _very, very soon_ , I am going to look at you like this in direct sunlight so I can kiss and count every single goddamn freckle covering this skin.”

Flint was biting his lip, his eyes clenched shut again. His whole body was clenched, actually, thighs tense and straining in the chains and under Silver’s hands. He seemed intent not to let any noise escape, which seemed to Silver both an insult and an opportunity.

Silver had just been planning on jerking Flint off, but. He can’t be expected to look at a piece of fruit that sweet and not get a taste.

It’s a little awkward, getting on his knees. Awkward, and painful, leaning on Flint for support until he’s finally on the hard floor. Flint’s trying to look down under his arm to see what Silver’s about to do, but if he hadn’t figured it out by now Silver’s not about to ruin the surprise.

“Christ, Captain,” said Silver, a little hoarse from a combination of pain and pleasure, because he and Flint are more alike than either of them like to acknowledge. “These freckles really do cover you everywhere.” His hands reached out to grab two speckled asscheeks and licked a long stripe from the base of Flint’s balls all the way to the top of his crack.

Flint spasmed sharply, a loud cry emitting from his mouth before getting cut off abruptly by the chain working it’s way across his throat. Semen was actually leaking from the tip of his cock onto the stone floor.

“Do you like that?” Silver asked, using his time wisely waiting for a response by biting down firmly on Flint’s ass.

“Fuck,” gasped Flint. “ _Fuck_.”

“Is that a ‘fuck, yes’ or a ‘fuck, no?’”

Flint panted for a moment, unable to form words. Silver was prepared to wait exactly sixteen minutes for an answer, but then Flint finally said, “That was a ‘get the fuck on with it before I fucking kill you.’”

“Oh dear,” said Silver, running his stubble against Flint’s ass. “That is way more verbal that I would like you to be at this point in time. Better make this quick, shall we?”

“What?” were Flint’s last words before Silver took him apart with his tongue. Usually when Silver did that to a man he was using his words to destroy them, but he was nothing if not adaptable.

He spread Flint’s ass wide. It was too dark to get a good look at his hole but he could guess where it was, and when he dove it he hit the bullseye with his mouth and _sucked_. He closed his eyes and  kissed Flint’s pucker in all the ways he planned to do to his mouth, wet and filthy, the faintest hint of teeth, the lightest push of tongue against skin.

Flint howled, writhing in his chains uncontrollably. It was all Silver could do to keep a grip on Flint’s ass, having to squeeze down on his cheeks hard, which only served to make Flint spasm more.

Silver pulled back to catch his breath, his chin soaking. Flint’s leg muscles were quivering like he’d been running miles in thick, hot sand.

“I’m going to fuck you with my tongue, Captain,” said Silver into his skin, “and I’m going to ask for you to come as fast as you’re able. Can you do that for me?” Silver leans around him to look at his Captain’s face.

Flint was held tight by those chains, the few points where they rested against his skin were red and raw. His wrists looked like they might be bleeding slightly. But Flint didn’t looked pained. His eyes were wet, far off. He looked blissed out and heavily fucked, even though Silver had barely gotten there yet. Silver wondered when the last time it was Flint let himself feel good.

“Captain?” Silver pressed.

Finally those dazed eyes found his. Silver’s heart skipped a little at that expression, directed at him. Flint nodded, just twice, and Silver didn’t need to hear the words this time.

He debated between needing two hands to hold Flint’s ass again or using one to jerk him off, and decided on the latter since they really had better get a move on. Using his right hand to keep a better grip on Flint’s exposed asshole, he grabbed Flint’s cock with his left at the same time he fucked into Flint with his tongue.

Flint was a man possessed, a man divided. Moaning long and loud, he seemed torn between fucking up into Silver’s hand and grinding back onto his face. He managed to do both, caught and held tightly between steel and Silver on every part of him.

Silver couldn’t go as deep as he’d like from this angle, and he imagined next time, getting the Captain on the ship, or in a hut (in daylight, because freckles), Flint bent over in a warm bed, face mashed into his sheets. Maybe Silver would get him to hold himself open while Silver worked him open with his tongue and fingers, getting him loose enough so Silver could just slide inside.

Silver’s jaw ached, and he couldn’t breathe any better than Flint could, but looking and _listening_ to the raw, desperate man before him -- a man he respected and feared and spent most of his time in awe of, made needy and bared here because of _him_ , and Silver felt his own self frenzied and overwhelmed. He stabbed inside of Flint gracelessly, wiggling his tongue against the ring of muscles, his left hand doing little more than holding tightly to Flint’s cock while he humped up into it.

Flint thrusted only a couple more times before coming with a final, deep groan. Silver caught most of it in his hand, the rest splashing onto stone. He sagged immediately, trembling in his chains, leaning back slightly so as not to strangle himself.

Silver pulled his face free of Flint’s ass. He needed a moment, resting his forehead against a freckled hip, trying to catch his breath. His cock was straining against his trousers. As good of an idea as this was, it was also a _terrible_ idea.

He struggled to stand with one leg and one hand, not wanting to grab at Flint with the come-covered one. He managed, but stumbled forward, pressing all the way into Flint’s back, a slight brush of skin-warmed steel against his exposed collarbone. His clothed cock rubbed against Flint’s bare ass, and to fucking _hell_ with waiting until later.

Silver wouldn’t need long either, hastily pulling himself out of his pants one-handed. It had, unfortunately, been a long time since he felt anything like this.

He began jerking his cock roughly, Flint still hanging limply in front of him. Even incredibly aroused and in a highly volatile situation, Silver prided himself on being a very observant person, but it took a minute before he realized Flint wasn’t staring off into space in a orgasm-induced haze.

He was staring at Silver’s hand, held loosely in front of him, his own cooling come covering Silver’s palm and fingers.

Flint stared at his hand, unblinking, and Silver stared at Flint, unblinking, and without slowing down his pace on his own cock, he lifted his other hand slightly toward Flint’s face, just a fraction.

Flint’s mouth opened, inviting, and Silver wasn’t even thinking anymore. His mind was a buzz, like the inside of his head was a freckled as Flint’s skin, and when he lifted his messy hand to Flint’s mouth, Flint accepted them readily. _Greedily_.

“ _Fuck_ , Captain,” moaned Silver, knees buckling. “Thank you, oh, that’s good, that’s so _good_ , _thank you_ , Captain.” Good god. Silver thought anyone who would waste time trying to discover every corner of the Earth clearly hadn’t realized all there was to discover in another person. Silver thought he’d be happy exploring everything that was Captain James Flint for the rest of his days.

Flint moaned as he sucked down each finger individually, using his tongue and teeth now to tear Silver apart and clean him up. He’d just started lapping at his palm, thick and rough. There wasn’t even any come left but he moved his mouth over Silver’s hand hungrily, and Silver came all over Flint’s ass and back with a shout.

His fingers trailed out of Flint’s mouth, dragging down against the full, chewed bottom lip. They breathed together, and in the echo of the dark cell they sounded like a single wild, living creature.

Slowly, Silver stepped back and pulled up Flint’s pants, fastening them before doing up his own. He stepped out in front of him, keeping close. He ran a hand over the back of Flint’s head, over his ear, cupping his neck. For once Silver wasn’t completely sure what he wanted to say, but only because there was so much he wanted to say.

“Okay?” he settled on, his lips brushing against Flint’s forehead.

Flint’s eyes were still closed, but he nodded immediately, the stubble on the crown of his head tickling his lips.

Silver let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. “Good.” He rubbed the back of Flint’s neck, let his fingers brush against the bruising along the chain lightly. “Good.”

And then Silver said, “I’ll be right back.”

Flint’s head shot up so far he nearly cracked Silver’s jaw. His eyes were wide and pissed. “What.”

Silver took a step back a little nervously. There was no real way Flint could hurt him like this. But. Just in case. “Well when I first came down here I didn’t know they had you chained up like that.”

“ _So?_ ”

“Soooo,” said Silver, backing all the way out now, “the keyring I had found on my way in had only one key on it.”

Flint blinked at him. It was an angry blink. “You don’t have the fucking keys for _any_ of these locks?!”

“I didn’t know I’d need more than one key! Look, I’ll be right back. Just,” and he accidentally let a giggle escape. A small one. “Just don’t move.”

Flint started thrashing against the chains. There wasn’t any doubt in Silver’s mind that he was getting any pleasure out of it now. “I’m going to fucking kill you, John Silver! I’m going to take that fucking peg leg and jam it down your fucking throat!”

“Careful, Captain, you’re going to make me hard again.” Silver could be brave sometimes, as long as there was no immediate danger. “Might make finding the other keys more difficult.”

He turned and half-ran down the hallway, leaving Flint alone with his rage, towards the men he’d left for dead. Surely they’d have the keys he needed. He still had at least ten minutes before anyone came looking for them, and he’d already thought of seventeen different ways to make it up to the Captain.

There Silver went, again.

Always planning ahead.

* * *

 

**Author's Note:**

> Here's a fun drinking game, take a shot every time I use italics, except don't do that because you will _die._


End file.
